Linzin Fanfiction Week!
by ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: Part of the Legend of Korra fan community deemed this week, from 8/6 to 8/12, Linzin Week, where we write Lin Beifong/Tenzin fanfiction and draw fanart based on six prompts. They are Tattoos, Family, Love Smut , Duty, Memories, and Midnight. Every day I'll upload my piece here, as well as a drabble! Rated M in preparation for Smut Day.
1. Day 1: Tattoos

For the first time in over a century, the most treasured ceremony of the Air Nomads would be performed again.

Because of this, they made a special exception to tradition and allowed her to be in the room.

Lin stood, quiet and mesmerized, as she watched him carefully run the razor over his pale, lean body, naked but for the orange undergarment. She tried to picture what the tattoos would look like—like long spider's legs over his limbs, stretching all over the skin she loved and changing it into something unrecognizable. She hated herself for these thoughts but could not stop them; she forced herself to glance into his reflected eyes once more, to see the pride and dedication just peeking through his excitement and terror, and some of the bitter thoughts lessened.

Avatar Aang had always entertained them with the stories of his own tattoos—that he had been the youngest to ever earn them, that the day he had achieved them had been the greatest day of his life, and that receiving them while sitting on a cold, hard temple floor with no one to speak to through the pain, was one of the more enlightening moments of his life.

It was tradition, he explained, to have them done in silent, and in private. The new master must meditate through the pain, and this self-control was much easier accomplished when the only other person in the area was the one creating the tattoos.

But it had been so long since the last ceremony that Aang had decided to let that little rule slide, given that Lin promise to stay silent during the process, even to the point of death. She had agreed without a thought.

She still remembered the first day Tenzin had told her about the tattoos—he was six and she was five and he kept blowing air in her face and when she told him to stop he said, "No!" and when she asked him why he said "Because I want the arrows like my daddy!"

And here he was, twenty-six and a master. The pride welled up in her chest as he shaved the last of the hair from his hand and she wanted to cry. He was her best friend first and her lover second and this had to be the greatest day of his life.

He looked at her through the mirror and did not smile as he met her eyes; his mouth simply loosened for a moment from its tight line and his eyes widened in a way that said "This is it, isn't it?" She could only nod and ground her teeth tightly together to keep the tears in.

With a sort of reverence, he placed the razor on the edge of the sink and took a deep, steadying breath. Unexpectedly he took her hand and they walked with heavy steps into the next room.

Avatar Aang sat perfectly upright in the center of the room, another cushion and the tattooing instruments placed carefully in front of him. He did not watch them enter but continued to meditate, apparently undisturbed by their entrance. Lin squeezed Tenzin's hand tightly, so tightly. Just before he released her grip to take his place in front of his father, he returned the pressure. A very faint sheen of sweat was beginning to cover his back—she wished to massage his shoulders, to kiss away his fear of pain. Instead she took her place at his side, and held her hands limply in her lap.

When Aang opened his eyes his expression did not change, but it was clear that pride oozed from every pore of him. He reached to touch his son's back, and with intense precision he massaged the taut muscles and sinew. Tenzin relaxed, inch by inch as the stress was forced out of his shoulders. When Aang took back his hands, he spoke.

"Airbender Tenzin, for twenty years you have studied the lessons passed down from generation to generation within our culture, and your focus and dedication led you to the completion of our thirty-six tasks. This gives you the title of Master, and awards you the most highly honored privilege of wearing our arrows, a tradition passed down since the first airbenders learned from the flying bison, from which we take our tattoos. These tattoos will pass from your forehead—" and here Aang reached around his son's head to touch the very center "—down your neck and to your back—" his fingers seemed as light and tender as his words "—which still pass down your arms to your hands, and down your legs onto your feet. They mark the passage of your chi, which is the very passage of your energy throughout your body.

"Today you honor our culture. Today you become a master."

In a move that took them both by surprise, Aang held and squeezed his son's shoulder, and leaned forward. "I'm so proud of you, Tenzin." A smile brightened his face for a moment when he looked over at Lin. "I'm glad you wanted to be here for him."

She stuttered. "It's—it's an honor to be here, Avatar Aang." She struggled to bow with her knees crossed the way they were. Aang simply winked, and then gently took her hand from her lap and placed it tenderly on his son's knee. She returned the smile, just a little bit.

And then he picked up the needle and hammer, and began in the center of Tenzin's back.

Neither man's expression changed at the action, but new beads of sweat began to appear on Tenzin's forehead, and Lin adjusted her hand just slightly in order to cup around the beginning of his knee; she held him there, just tight enough for the pressure of her touch to always be felt but loose enough to allow for the passage of blood through his thigh. He did not respond to that touch, either, but she knew he wanted to thank her for her support. He could only sit straight, breathe in deep, and focus through the pain. She knew he had to be thinking about the Air Nomads he would never meet—the masters who had taught his father,_ the Avatar_ of all people—but she hoped she was in there somewhere, too.


	2. Drabble: Blood

"Lin, you're bleeding."

The members of the triad lay around them, nursing their wounds as best they can in their handcuffs. She stands, a rough grin on her mouth, strong and triumphant. The metal cables dangle loosely from her wrists.

"Lin!"

The second cry of her name catches her attention, and she looks over at Tenzin with such ferocity in her eyes that it startles him. He hesitates, and reaches over to touch lightly above her cheek, where the blood starts.

"You're-you've been cut."

The worry in his eyes startles her and she reaches up to touch the right side of her face-and her fingers slip on the blood. She withdraws her touch and stares at the redness.

"I-"

"We should get you to Mom," he murmurs, the fear still in his eyes. "It doesn't look like you're clotting. Are you sure you can't feel it?"

Her eyes are wide as she finally looks away from her stained fingers. "I can't."

He takes her bloodied hand. "Come on."

She comes to consciousness sluggishly; her eyes flicker open but she absorbs nothing of the room she's in. She can feel that she only wears her underclothes, that she's in a bed with silky sheets, that Tenzin's hand (long and tender and soft) holds hers and her mother's hand (short and squat and callused) is on her cheek. There is a dull throbbing pain on her right jaw.

"Lin!" she hears Tenzin cry, his voice thick with emotion, as she forces her eyes to open once more.

"I told you she'd wake up." Toph's voice is softer, and a pair of lips press firmly to her forehead.

Her vision finally clears and she realizes she must be in the Air Temple compound. Her mother sits beside her head, and her fingers caress the painless side of her face. "I should get Katara, now that you're awake," she murmurs, and without another word leaves her daughter and Tenzin alone.

"What happened?" Lin groans, hearing the door shut behind her mother. Tenzin scoots his chair closer to her side.

"You passed out after I decided to take you here—I carried you most of the way." He reaches to touch the place just above her throbbing pain. "There was so much blood, Lin. Mom fixed you up pretty quickly, but she thinks you'll have the scars for life. She's sorry she couldn't do more." The sigh he releases is heavy and hard. "I'm so sorry, Lin, I should've—I should've been watching you closer, I shouldn't have let them surround you like that, I should—"

"Hey!" She interrupts him as sharply as she can when his voice grows too emotional; at the anguish in his expression she softens. "Hey." Lazily, she lifts a weak arm to touch his face. "I'm not dead. Just—just battle scars. That's all." She struggles to lift her hand, to touch the point of the arrow on his forehead. "Like your tattoos. Marked for life." She grins.


	3. Day 2: Family

The breeze is cool against her skin and she adjusts her book once more, lifting it higher to shade her face against the burning sun.

It's a hot August afternoon on Air Temple Island, and Lin and Tenzin sit as far away from the compound as they can—just out of eyesight but just within hearing distance. He sits, struggling to meditate while she lies on her back with her head resting in his lap, trying to hold onto the words that run before her eyes. It's a book Kya lent her about two lovers in the Fire Nation, and she know it has something to do later on about dragons from the way she raved about it last week, but it's hard to concentrate in the heat and with Tenzin so near.

She tosses the book aside and it lands with a soft thump on the grass beside them, but she regrets it as the sun blinds her. At her sharp intake of breath Tenzin's eyes open, and quick as a flash he lifts a hand from his meditation pose to shield her eyes. She looks at him, and they grin at each other.

"Thanks."

"No problem." It's clear that his period of meditation has come to its end as his shoulders relax and he leans back a bit. His other hand plays with her hair, and she enjoys the feeling of his long, thin fingers scratching against her scalp.

"So I was—I was…thinking, um." She smiles as she watches him struggle for words, as his fingers pause in her hair. His hand trembles a little at the effort of holding it above her face so she digs her bare foot into the ground and bends the earth around them into something of a cave; they're bathed in shadow and Tenzin, without even a look of surprise at her sudden bending, automatically lowers his hand.

"Spit it out, Tenzin!" she grins, crossing her arms.

"I." His face is bright red and her grin widens at his embarrassment. "Look—it's just that Kya is getting older and my parents keep talking about her getting married and having kids and that just makes me think about us and what if we have kids someday?" It all comes out in a rush, as though that's the only way he can bring himself to say the words. They take her by surprise and she sits in quiet contemplation; with the words no longer jumbling around in his mind he relaxes again, and resumes his caress of her hair.

"I'd like to have a big family," he murmurs, the words coming softly now that the hurdle has been jumped. "I don't really care if I have a lot of boys or girls—I just hope they'd be airbenders. And maybe one could be a waterbender, like my mom."

"What would you name them?" It's an automatic question, as her head is still reeling from the topic of conversation. Even at sixteen she hadn't given much thought to marriage or motherhood—she'd told her mom about it, and Toph had smiled and said that there was nothing wrong with not wanting to be married or to be a mother, as she herself had not considered romance until she was an adult. But even with her mother's assurance it still bothered her a bit.

"I don't know—I guess I'd love to name them after my parents, but that's a little weird, isn't it?" She snapped to attention as he continued to speak.

"I don't think it's weird," she murmured. "I'd name my daughter Toph." _My mom is my hero,_ she added silently.

Tenzin simply shrugged. "I like the name Meelo, for a boy."

She takes a steadying breath, and then finally forces the question out: "You'd really want kids?"

He looks at her quizzically—just how she'd known he would, and how she'd feared he would. "Of course I would. You don't?"

"Not—not really." She squirms out of his lap and sits beside him, crossing her legs and staring at her dirty feet. "I don't know. I feel like there's a lot more I want to do than just have kids." She shrugs and continues to avoid his gaze.

He surprises her when he places a hand on her shoulder; she looks back over at him, guilty, with her hair covering most of her face. With his free hand he brushes the locks away. "Don't worry about it," he murmurs, so softly. "I guess it's too early to talk about it—I mean, I don't even have my tattoos yet! I definitely can't be a dad before I master airbending." He smiles, and it encourages her lips to smile back, even if the troubled look remains in her eyes. It doesn't go unnoticed, and he leans forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. "If talking about it makes you unhappy, then we won't talk about it, okay?"

But in that instant, she wants it—she wants Tenzin's little airbending babies; she wants to see his face as she tells him she's pregnant, and she wants to see his face when she places his child in his arms, and she wants to see him with children on his shoulders, not just his children but her children, named Toph and Katara and Aang and Sokka after their heroes.

She can't tell him everything she sees in that instant because it vanishes after it appears; instead she leans into his shoulder, and replies, "Okay." There is a moment between them before she realizes something, and leans over to plant a steady punch on his shoulder. "What kind of stupid name is Meelo, anyway?"

His laughter is long and deep.


	4. Drabble: Metal

The procession of presents had ended and the cake was being cut when she finally found the courage to approach him.

"Tenzin?" she murmured, just loud enough so that only he could hear her over the din of the crowd. He turned to her, an expression of absolute bliss on his face. He was now sixteen and the spitting image of his father. She blushed a little under the intensity of his big gray eyes.

Hesitantly, she held out the small orange box she clutched between her fingers. "Happy birthday."

Even though it seemed impossible, his smile grew even brighter as he took it from her and carefully pulled it open. The smile melted into a confused expression as he took in the thin sheet of metal. When he looked back up to her, he tried to rearrange his face into thankfulness, but it wasn't convincing.

Grinning, relaxed from finally presenting him the gift, she reclaimed the box. "I'm getting pretty good at metalbending—I wanted to make you a bracelet or—or something. If you wanted it." Now she was nervous again as her words faltered; _this is so stupid._

"Oh!" Tenzin exclaimed, excited one more, now that the mystery had been solved. "Oh, that's so _cool_, Lin! I love it!" Expectantly, he held out his wrist.

She wanted to kiss him on the mouth for the relief that once more rushed through her; carefully she lifted the slice and rested it against his wrist. Placing the box between her knees to free her hands, she wrapped her fingers around his arm, took in a deep breath, and bent the metal to fit perfectly on his skinny wrist. With another deep breath, she pressed her thumbnail into the face and carved out _Happy Sixteenth! From Lin._

He stared at it in awe. "That's really, really cool. Thanks—thanks so much!"

He enveloped her in a hug and she was glad he couldn't see her blushing a fierce scarlet.


	5. Day 3: LoveSmut

There's something about the way she walks up to him after his time with the council has ended that makes shivers roll up and down his spine, but he can't quite place it until she approaches him and leans on her tiptoes, her breasts just barely pressing against him. "I have a headache." He can tell she wants her voice to be tender, subtle—seductive, even, if she were capable of being seductive, but it only comes out as a half-growl, which is still sexy in its own right. He grins wildly and she struggles to return it, but the smile is exhausted and weak on her face. Tenzin takes her hand and she lets him lead her to her apartment.

It's nearing dusk so the apartment is dark with the fading light streaming through the open window, but neither of them bothers to brighten the room. With absolute ease she bends her uniform off and is left standing against a wall in plain underclothes; her arms are open and waiting for Tenzin as he slips from his sandals and pulls the robes over his head and off his shoulders.

Her kisses are lazy and slow; the trembling of her fingers on his head and neck reveal to him the harshness of her pain. Deftly he slips down from her lips and traces along the erogenous zone of her collarbone; she shudders a bit under his touch and her nails begin to dig into his shoulders (As he pushes up her camisole to reveal her tender stomach he remembers a conversation months ago, when she temporarily lamented his lack of hair—the lack of something for her to hold onto).

His fingers slip around that one last piece of cotton and her sex is revealed, wet and waiting; his mouth caresses her, knows just where to place the pressure and when and she murmurs his name as the orgasm begins—never screams, just a soft, steady murmur, almost a whisper. _Tenzin, Tenzin_. She's quivering in his hands as she rides out the last of her climax, and her knees begin to buckle against his shoulders.

He catches her softly as she slides down the wall; her face is so calmed, so happy, and he smiles. "I love you."

She relaxes into his arms and holds him tight around the neck, her head resting against a shoulder. "I love you, too," she sighs, but it's practically a moan. "And thank you."

"You're welcome." He kisses her forehead, and brushes her hair from her temple, stuck there with sweat. "I'm happy I could help. Stressful day?"

She groans. "That doesn't even begin to cover it." But her expression remains peaceful, her eyes stay closed and she revels in the relief of having a clear head.

"What do you do when I'm still with the council, and you have a headache?"

"Wait for you to come back."

He snorts out of amusement but waits for her to continue; when she doesn't, only sighs contentedly and snuggles in closer to his chest, he speaks again. "Really? You don't—you don't touch yourself? You just…wait?"

He can feel her blush, just over his heart. "Yes. Is that a problem?" She's defensive and he backtracks immediately.

"No, of course not! I was just—just curious." It takes her a few moments to relax back into his arms, and once she does he begins again, coming at the topic at a different angle. "It makes me a little sad, though, that you wait for me when you don't have to." She shifts a little, uncomfortable, but lets him continue. "I love you and I never want you to be in pain, especially when you don't have to be."

She begins to shiver in the dark coldness of her apartment. "I've never—I." She struggles to find the words as he wraps her up in his arms. "_Touching myself_ never held much appeal for me," she finally spits out, and her blush burns on his chest.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, or embarrassed by, Lin," he murmurs. "I could—I could even help you, if you'd like."

That's too much for her; she pushes out of his arms and stands, and straightens out her camisole.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, completely in earnest—it's the broad honesty in his voice that catches her, that makes her pause as she reaches for her underwear. "I love you, Lin, and I want you to—well, _love yourself_." He knows she must be grimacing at his word choices, but when he reaches for her waist she leans into his touch, and sighs.

"If I say yes," she begins, slowly, as she walks back into his hold, "you need to know that I'm only saying it because I like the idea of not needing you around all the time." It's a rare moment of humor for her and he squeezes her for a moment to communicate his excitement in the dark. "Now, how do I start?"

He releases her and takes her wrists. "First, you wash your hands, because your body is a temple." She half-groans at that as she leads him into the washroom, and he smiles. "First lesson of the Air Nomads—respect yourself!"

The flicking on of the light in the small room blinds them both; they feel around for the sink and blink again and again until their vision solidifies. His hands cover hers completely as she turns on the hot water; she elbows him in the ribs. "I can wash my own hands," she mumbles, so he moves his grip up to her forearms and leans over her, resting his chin on her shoulder while watching her through the mirror. With her head bent low the shadows are dramatic and striking across her cheekbones; they exaggerate her concentration.

When she wipes her hands dry she looks up in the mirror, and he smiles at her reflection. His hands sneak back around hers and she closes her eyes—and then she snaps them back open, to give him a sheepish look. "Could you—not watch?" Her voice is surprisingly soft, surprisingly shy; in the past twenty six he's never heard her so shy. He complies wordlessly, removing his chin from her shoulder to place his forehead against the crown of her skull; all he can see is the thin space between their bodies. Satisfied that he can't see her face at all, she relaxes hesitantly, but completely.

He guides her fingers across her cheekbones, her jawline, and traces ever so gently against her collarbone—her tender spot. It upsets him for a moment that he knows her body so much better than she does, when she gasps unexpectedly as her-his fingers trace over her lightly-covered nipples. He leads their caressing hands under her camisole slowly, gently massaging her breasts. She reacts; she trembles a bit now under his touch, and he can only image how her sex must be wet and open.

The skin of her stomach is so sensitive to touch and she laughs breathlessly as they play around her belly button. As their fingers stretch out to her hips, however, her breathing sharpens, and the closer they draw to the meeting of her thighs the more sensitive she becomes to the pressure of their hands.

She's so warm at the meeting, where their fingers curl around her hair and cup around her muscular thighs. His touch has become less controlling, more suggesting, the closer she comes to herself. He's barely against her fingers as they begin to explore further down, and he removes his fingers from hers entirely when she begins to moan. He imagines how ready she must be by now, throbbing and expectant. It excites him to no end but he struggles to ignore the tugging of his erection.

As her moans grow in volume and she starts to unconsciously move against her hand, he finally shifts; he can't take the frustration anymore. His hands move as stealthily as they can off of her arms, and he's glad that she doesn't seem to notice. His fingers travel up her shoulders and down to her hips, and he holds her there tightly. Without breaking his promise he moves his head from her crown, moves down her back to place his lips against her shoulder. She quivers at his touch, or maybe it's her own touch; he's lost in his haze of love for her and she's lost in her own haze of love for herself.

When dawn rises for a new day, they both grin with exhausted relief that it's a weekend.


	6. Drabble: Ghost

It's the first time she's seen him since Pema's arrest; it surprises her a bit when she realizes that was over three years ago. There's a little toddler perched on his shoulder and his wife walks on his side, heavily pregnant. _Carrying on the legacy_, Lin thinks, with just a touch of bitterness.

For just a moment it flashes before her eyes—just the ghost of a vision, him in front of her with _their_ child on her shoulders, with dark unruly hair and clear gray eyes. A whisper of the sensation of a tiny child's hand in hers.

She lets it go before it can wreck her.


	7. Day 4: Duty

The bags are so dark and heavy under his eyes when he meets her for their quick weekly lunch. It pains her to watch him suffer like this. It's been three months since Aang's passing but he still can't sleep; she wants to enfold him in her arms and fill up that hole his father left in his life, but she knows she can't, so she just sits there in agony across from him as he slowly nurses his soup.

"How's Kya?" she asks, for want of legitimate conversation. "I've been too busy to stop by." His older sister had been in town for the week, to check in on him and their mother.

"She's fine."

Another silence, and it's one of thousands that have passed between them since the funeral. It drives her crazy but she can't think of how to end it, how to resolve their tension.

Not a word passes between them for the rest of their meal.

* * *

It's been a year since the Avatar's death and the darkness is fading from under Tenzin's eyes; a bit of life returns to him. The silences between them are no longer so painful. She's so happy that he seems to take pleasure in his job once more.

In a spur of the moment decision, they dress up to go out to one of the fancier restaurants in town. They relax into the comfortable leather booth and look through the menus half-heartedly; he's too distracted by the picture she makes in her gown and she's too distracted by the kisses he plants on her neck and bare shoulders. Only the arrival of complimentary white wine stops his unusual public display of affection.

They both order seafood and he holds her hand all throughout dinner and she can't quite believe how well everything is going—it feels like it's been so long since they've had a good, romantic date that she's a bit suspicious of everything. She waits for the bomb to drop.

When an uncomfortable silence finally falls between them as they wait for dessert, she relaxes a bit at the normalcy of it.

"Lin." The way he says her name is normal, too—a little uncomfortable, with hints of a monologue to come.

"Yes?"

"I—I know this has never been an easy thing for you to talk about," he begins, and she knows where this is going; it, too, reeks of normalcy. Children. It always tends to go back to children around Tenzin. It's part of his charm, but it's one of his flaws, she feels—doesn't he just want to have some fun in life before adding to his already enormous pile of responsibility?

"It's just been a while since we spoke about it, but I wanted to know if—if your thoughts on…having children had changed."

She hesitates—she hesitates so long that it worries her. She knows exactly what he's asking: if she lies, he'll ask her to marry him, right on the spot.

It almost brings tears to her eyes, thinking about it.

"Can I—" her voice is so weak and it trembles, but she clears it and strengthens it. "Can I have a few days, to think over my answer?"

His nod is solemn, and she realizes that this is answer enough for him—she didn't say yes, so she's going to say no.

And she knows, deep down, that this is the truth.

* * *

The dreams were vivid and short, and made her sleep fitful. Images of children flying—or falling?—and so many oranges and yellows mixed with browns and greens, with blue arrows and black cables. Babies called her name and somewhere Aang was watching her. She finally wakes in tears and forces herself to leave her bed just as the sun peeks over Yue Bay.

The breakfast tea is too hot but she forces it down anyway, wincing as it tears at her throat. The heat of it upsets her empty stomach but the scent is soothing, so she keeps it in her hands as she sits and stares out at the water from the large window in her apartment. The reflections of the rays are almost blinding.

Aang's death had affected Tenzin much more than she'd previously assumed—he wasn't simply missing his father, he was missing the only other master airbender in existence. She had always vaguely known but had never really thought about how stressful it must be for him, to be the heir of a thousand years old culture—a culture that would die without his reproduction.

And that was what it all came down to—_their_ life desires didn't matter much anymore. Kya was past her child-birthing years and still showed no interest in getting married; it was generally well-established that Bumi would find a wife the same day he learned firebending. So it came down to Tenzin, it all came down to their youngest, their only airbender.

The last airbender.

How ironic was it, that The Last Airbender would have the last airbender?

Her eyes prickle with tears.

It didn't matter what _Tenzin_ wanted; the fate of the Air Nomads rested solely on his shoulders. There were the acolytes, certainly, but they weren't _benders_. It didn't matter that Tenzin might want to fully establish himself in politics before becoming a father, or visit the old homes of his parents, or even simply see the world—it was his responsibility, it was his absolute _duty_ to his family, to his father's legacy, and to the world that he find a wife and have children.

It was convenient that he had always wanted children anyway. Maybe he had known—young sixteen year old Tenzin, dreaming of the day he would complete the Thirty Seventh Level of airbending; dreaming of the day he would bring new airbenders into the world.

But not her, never her—children had never featured in her daydreams. She could carry the Beifong legacy on her shoulders, and once she had made her mark it would fade into legend. She had always known that, and her mother had never chastised her for it; her mother frankly didn't care, she was just happy enough to have Lin. And Lin had never cared for continuing her own line. She wasn't a nurturer and she didn't want to learn how to become one; she had wanted to be police chief and now she was and what else was there in the world for her?

Spirits, but she loved him. _How she loved him_. He made her free. He made her free and that was all she could think, over and over again as the tears fell haphazardly down her cheeks. He had released her, helped her transcend every hardship and transform it into a beautiful life. And now it was her turn. Now she had to let him go, or she would trap him forever.

* * *

They meet early in the afternoon, during what would have normally been their lunch break. He fidgets but at least looks like he had gotten plenty of sleep. After greeting him, she can't quite look him in the eye.

"I haven't changed my mind, Tenzin." She tries to say it as diplomatically as possible but she falters, and it comes out too weak, too vulnerable.

The twitching stops immediately; he regards her with eyes that are distant, now that she could finally meet them again. "I thought you hadn't." He smiles at her but it is weak and it trembles.

She decides to take an extended vacation to Gaoling with her mother shortly thereafter; when they return home months later, she is not surprised to find a bright young woman on his arm.

Not surprised, but hurt. Her suitcase has barely hit the floor by the time she's filing out an arrest warrant.

He has a duty to the world, but she has a duty to her heart.


	8. Drabble: Justice

"Are you sure you didn't get a good look of the guy?" Tenzin's voice is much too frantic for her; the words mesh in her hazy mind as she floats between alertness and unconsciousness. Katara's hands are nice and cool where they touch her fevered brow and fix her scarred jaw.

"Tenzin," she tries to say, but the syllables mesh in her mouth and it hurts too badly to speak; she tries to smile but that pain is even worse. Instead she takes his hand, and he grips it painfully, too (She's glad Katara isn't making her hurt). When her eyes flicker open long enough to take in the people around her, his expression worries her—he's so worried for _her, _it's both flattering and ridiculous.

"Tenzin, I think you need to let Lin rest." Even Katara's voice is smooth and soothing, even if it does nothing to ease Tenzin's panic.

"You've got to let me find these triads! I've got to bring them to justice, or—or make up my own justice to give them, or—"

The hilarity of the mental image of Tenzin purposefully bringing harm to anyone cuts through Lin's haze of pain and she laughs outright.

She tries to say, "_You_? Delivering _justice_? I'd like to see you try, airhead!" but all she gets out is a jumble of unintelligible sounds before she finally passes out


	9. Day 5: Memories

He wakes to find that he misses her scent of earth and cool metal. The bed is too big without her; while her pillow still has hints of the honeyed smell of her hair, it's not enough to satisfy his need of her.

The shower is lonely and as he lathers the soap across his arms he imagines that his hands are hers, touching him, embracing him. He imagines what it would be like if she were there—her laugh, or her grumble, at his neediness, his _greediness_ of her body. By the time he towels off, dresses, and heads for work with a peach for a meager breakfast, he tries to consider how many times they would've kissed already that day.

The council is just as boring as it ever is, with discussions in endless circles of increasing representations of various nations and nonbenders. Those who speak only talk to hear their own voices and it is easy for him to block them out. He remembers her hair instead, the very texture of it, the blackest black. He remembers the way her twin scars feel against his thumb when he caresses her. He remembers, he remembers….

He imagines every speaker has her voice, he imagines that the smell upon the breeze is her scent. He remembers when she would come deliver his lunch, before she replaced her mother as Police Chief. He wishes she could do that now.

When he's finally let off, he nearly runs to her apartment, nearly flies over the traffic to get there as soon as he can. She laughs when he bursts through the door and envelops her in his arms.

"I shouldn't have let you move out," he murmurs as he buries himself in her hair, soaking her up. She giggles at his kisses. "Your memories haunt me all over the place."


	10. Drabble: Death

Her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders as his breath shudders through his body. The sun is setting and a few well-placed candles illuminate the room, casting dramatic shadows on Aang's emaciated body. She's not sure if she should be amused or disturbed that, from their position in the room, it looks as though he's smiling—but she remembers Uncle Aang and his teachings about death, and decides she should be amused. She doesn't bring it to Tenzin's attention, however, for fear that it might increase his sorrow.

Everything is set up for his passing; the mourning clothes have been laid out, the elaborate casket waits patiently in the corner. Silently Lin thinks over the chanting they'll say for Aang, and the reminder they'll say to themselves—death is natural, death is ever-present, and life is impermanent.

She had tried to remind Tenzin of the uniqueness of Aang's soul, that one day he might see his father again—but all that does is throw him into another tumult of sadness and bitterness, bitterness which makes him hate himself for feeling bitter.

He succumbs to her grip on him, leaning down to her and nuzzling his face against her shoulder. His cries are muted against her clothing. She holds him tightly, so tightly, and says her own half-prayer.

_Before you leave us, Aang, please say goodbye. Say goodbye to your son. And say hello to the Water Tribe for us._

There is a final exhale, and a wind, gentle and warm, breathes over the crouched and clutching figures. A child is born and cries in the Southern Water Tribe.


	11. Day 6: Midnight

As they walk to the highest point of the island, they swing their joined hands in lazy swoops. He enjoys the feel of her hand in his and she enjoys the sounds of the bay, loud even from this height. The pavement is cool beneath their bare feet, the night wind chilly against their skin. When they reach the Pavilion, she immediately releases his hand in order to leap up onto the baluster, standing perfectly balanced on her tiptoes, even on the narrow banister. He steps back to watch her, silhouetted in the moonlight that reflects from Yue Bay. Her legs are stretched far apart for her balance, and her black as pitch hair wavers in the breeze. Her arms are limp at her side, although her hands are outstretched, and he can see snatches of the water through her fingers.

"I love this view," she murmurs, her voice carrying to his ears on the breeze; he can barely hear it over the swell, "especially at midnight."

He takes a step to the side and studies what she studies: the ripples of the bay, the graceful darkness of the night sky, and the bright clear moon. He imagines that her eyes must be wide open to soak in this beautiful night.

He commits this vision to memory, and hopes that his skills are good enough that he can carve this image into her betrothal necklace.


End file.
